The Magical World Known as Macondo
by muzical
Summary: I wrote this story for my composition class on the novel One Hundred Years of Solitude. It's about a reporter who travels to Columbia and gets caught in the Banana Strike in Columbia in 1928. the concept of time is strange [basically there isn't any]


The Magical World Known as Macondo "And our next stop on our tour will be Macondo. Macondo is a special town..." the tour guide trailed off talking about the town we were to stay at for a few days. His name, or so he told us, was Gene H. Bell-Villada and he was an expert on Columbia and Macondo. I had been instructed by my boss to take a tour of Columbia and then to write an article about what I had seen and experienced. So far, however, nothing wonderful has happened.  
We had been told (we meaning the tour group) that Macondo was a magical, special town where all sorts of exciting things happen. I hoped so, because with the rate my trip was going, the only thing that I'd have to write about was the horrific smell of some of the towns and little huts we'd both visited and passed by.  
"Have you ever been down here before?" the man next to me asked.  
"Nope," I responded. "I've only been to the British Isles and Canada. That's the only places out of America I've visited."  
"Oh, well, it's very nice down here. A few too many cockroaches, scorpions and ants, but otherwise it's really quite nice."  
I nodded my head and went back to staring out the window. The deserted fields and trees passed by as the train rode onward. Every now and then, we would pass a stray cow or horse and they would look up alarmed at the sight of a speeding hunk of metal flying past.  
"Recently, a banana company, The United Fruit Company, had set up a plant here in Macondo. The company employed people from the town and is run by Mr. Brown. The company is an American company and some citizens of the city do not like the company here," Mr. Bell-Villada told us. "The United Fruit Company has rapidly expanded and enabled the government have a foothold in Macondo" (Bell-Villada 133).  
I copied down some of what he said for my article and set about observing the other members of my group. We had started the journey three days ago and had already been to three different towns in Columbia. Between the time change and the non-stop train rides, I had been too exhausted to observe the other group members until now.  
There were seven males and five females including me. The man next to me, George, was about average height and weight. He looked not more than thirty and was originally from America but had lived in Columbia for a few years. The other men were Aaron, Adam, Brett, Chris, Sean and Thomas. Thomas and Sean were twins and about twenty-five years old. Aaron was about twenty, Adam about twenty-five, Chris was twenty-two (I knew that for a fact because he told me) and Paul was about twenty. The females were Melanie, Rachael, Jessica, Brandi, and I. Melanie was about twenty, Rachael was nineteen (and also my roommate during this trip), Jessica and Brandi were both around twenty-five and I was twenty-four. All of the group members were from the United States and the majority of us had never been to Columbia. Wait, let me change that, everyone except George had never been to Columbia.  
"The train will be pulling into Macondo train station in just under ten minutes so if you will please begin to gather your belongings so we may exit the train as quickly as possible. Now, the entire town speaks Spanish and only a few citizens speak English. Does anyone speak Spanish fluently?"  
I raised my hand and so did the entire group.  
  
"Great! We shouldn't have too many problems conversing with the locals then."  
"You know Spanish?" George asked me.  
"Yes, I took it all throughout high school and minored in it in college. So I'm pretty fluent."  
"Muy bien Senorita! Hablo espanol tambien."  
"Si." I answered and sat back in my chair thinking.  
As I started out the window, we started to slow down and the next thing I knew, we were in the train station in Macondo. I gathered my things and got up to leave. As soon as I walked off the train I heard a voice call my name.  
"Kat!" I heard Rachael call out. "Kat!"  
I turned around and there was my roommate standing on the platform.  
"Come on! Let's get our stuff and find our hotel."  
I followed her to where we were to pick up our baggage. We found our bags and waited to find out which hotel we would be staying at. The new guide's name was Jose Arcadio Buendia; however, we were to call him Jose Arcadio Segundo (apparently there were numerous Jose Arcadio Buendias in this town). Jose Arcadio Segundo would show us around the town and make us feel at home here in Macondo for the next three days.  
"Todas las personas hablan espanol?" Jose Arcadio asked and we all nodded or responded with "Si".  
"Bien. El pueblo de Macondo es muy magico y la historia de el pueblo es muy interestante."  
I had realized that my tape recorder was not on so I frantically searched for it while Jose Arcadio Segundo described the town. As soon as I found it however, he was done with his opening speech.  
"Alright," he said speaking in English. "Vamos to the hotel because I'm sure you are all muy cansado."  
Quietly we all walked to the hotel and then promptly checked in. While we were sorting out room keys and which room was whose, I heard shouting and yelling from the train station where we had just left. I thought nothing of it, dismissing it as some kids playing around.  
Rachael and I followed Melanie, Brandi and Jessica over to where our rooms were located and then went our separate ways. Rachael unlocked the door to the room and walked inside. She promptly threw her bags against the wall and dropped onto the nearest bed. I threw my bags onto the bed and started to unpack a few necessities. After about a half hour of doing that, I was finally ready for bed. I dressed in my pjs and dropped on to the other bed. Thursday was finally over.  
Friday morning came and Rachael and I were awoken to the sound of more yelling and shouting in the station. We dressed quickly and went to wake up the others. The guys were already awake, also having been disturbed by the noise and Melanie, Brandi and Jessica awoke immediately. They all dressed and we walked to the station to see what was going on.  
"I wonder what the shouting is for. Maybe there was an accident and someone is stuck under the train?!" Melanie said in a worried tone.  
"Don't worry Mel," Chris said. "I'm sure it's nothing but some workers causing a fuss."  
Little did Chris know how truly right he was. We found our guide Jose Arcadio Segundo in the crowd.  
"What's going on?" Aaron asked him.  
"The banana company workers are on strike and el gobierno is bringing in el army. Look at those machine guns!"  
"Why are they on strike?" Adam asked.  
"They want wage increases, actual payments, and better working conditions," (Janes).  
I looked around at the crowd. There were about three thousand people there, men, women, children, older folks. I searched in my purse looking for my tape recorder. This would be a great topic for my article! Unfortunately, I had left it in the room, figuring I wouldn't need it. Que suerte!  
From the information Adam had found out, there was supposed to be a train that was arriving at twelve noon. The train, however, wasn't coming. The workers and others began to flow into the nearby streets which were blocked off my machine guns (Marquez 326).  
"Ladies and gentlemen, you have five minutes to withdraw" a man in a uniform said to the crowd (Marquez 327). I would find out later that he was a captain.  
"Guys," George said cautiously. "I think we should get out of here. They look serious!"  
"What do you mean?" Aaron asked.  
  
"Have you not seen the machine guns!!! The army looks ready to shoot!" George responded frantically.  
"Nah. They won't shoot. The army doesn't kill people with out cause" Thomas said.  
"Five minutes have passed," the captain said. "One more minute and we'll open fire" (Marquez 327).  
"Okay guys, I'm a little scared right now. Let's leave NOW!" I said not faking my scared tone.  
"You bastards!" Jose Arcadio Segundo shouted. "Take the extra minute and stick it up your ass!" (Marquez 328).  
Everyone buy Thomas and Sean left, rather, ran out of the station. We ran out the door and down the sidewalk and as soon as we ran about five feet away from the door, we heard the "...massive barrage of gunfire [break] out" (Bell-Villada 134).  
We heard the cries and shouts of the people at the station. Many cried out for their moms, others for God. Several voices were heard to shout to the others, "get down" (Marquez 329).  
"Guys, Thomas and Sean are still there!" Jess yelled when we got back to the hotel. "We have to go back and get them!"  
"Jess! Did you not hear the gunfire!? Didn't you hear the screams!? They're probably dead!" Aaron screamed at her.  
"Guys!" I yelled. "Breathe! Alright, we'll wait a few minutes and then go see if they're still alive. I for one do not want to be killed right now."  
Kayla started to say something but decided it would be better to not say anything at all. Everyone sat down on the beds/floor/chairs, whatever was closest to them. Gradually, everyone started to breathe easier and calm down.  
Even though we were devastated at the loss of our friends/acquaintances, we somehow relaxed enough to fall asleep. The next thing I knew, the sun was shining in on the room and it was morning; the day after the massacre. I turned over and saw Rachael staring at the ceiling and Chris had his arms around her. I noticed that she either was crying or is crying because her face was splotchy and red. I turned over again and saw Aaron watching me.  
"Do you think that they're dead?" he whispered to me.  
"I'm not sure. With the amount of bullets that were fired and the screams, I'd have to say more than likely." I didn't want to say it, somehow I wanted to believe that they were still alive hiding in a closet at the station. I felt my eyes well up with tears. Aaron must have noticed because he moved closer to me and held me.  
By this time, the whole group was awake, nervous and scared about what we might find when we got to the train station. Slowly Aaron and I stood up and moved toward the door. Everyone else followed in step. It was like a group of children playing follow-the-leader (it would have been funny had it not been such a disastrous time).  
We walked single-file to the station. Chris walked to the front of the line and turned to us.  
"I'll go in first."  
"No. We'll all go in together."  
We held each other's hands and walked slowly into the station. I expected to find bodies and body parts littered about the floor, blood stains on the ground, bullet casing scattered about. We walked in and saw... nothing. There were no bodies and body parts littered about the floor, no blood stains on the ground, no bullet casings scattered about.  
"What the hell..." Brett started to ask.  
"Where is ... everything?" we all began to wonder.  
A woman walked by us on the sidewalk.  
"Excuse me ma'am," Aaron politely began. "I hate to bring this up, but... what happened to the three thousand people who were here yesterday?"  
"What people? There were not three thousand people here yesterday, at least not at the same time," the woman responded and walked away.  
What? We didn't dream it, it was too real. Three thousand people were massacred here yesterday and no one seems to know anything about it. Pondering this, we began to walk; not knowing where, but we walked. Passing a house, we saw Jose Arcadio Segundo, our tour guide.  
"Jose Arcadio Segundo!" George called out. "Are you alright? What happened at the train station yesterday?"  
Jose Arcadio Segundo just stared at us, apparently not knowing how to answer.  
"No one knows anything. There were three thousand people at that train station yesterday and they're all dead. I was told by an officer that 'Nothing has happened in Macondo, nothing has ever happened, and nothing ever will happen.' (Marquez 333) and I don't believe him! I saw people getting shot and killed there!"  
"We know. We were there too. Our group members, Thomas and Sean, stayed behind and we can't find them." Brandi told him.  
"They're dead. Everyone is dead. All three thousand people at that station are dead." With that statement, he turned and walked away from us. We were left staring at his retreating figure.  
Our train tickets said we were to leave that day. That day, the sky left loose a torrential downpour of rain. It seemed like Macondo had never been rained on and now God was making up for it. We ran to the hotel to get our bags. Then we cautiously, ran to the train station. We looked around to see if we could spot Thomas and Sean. However, they were no where to be found. Maybe they were, as Jose Arcadio Segundo had said, dead. We boarded the train carefully, all holding our breathe until the train pulled out of the station and we were far from Macondo. We all knew that we never would return to that dreary place.  
I slept the entire way to the next town. The trip wasn't the same now that we had lost two of our members. As soon as the trip was finished, we all exchanged addresses and phone numbers; brought closer by an unavoidable tragedy.  
Now as I sit here, I can't even think of how to being the article. Three thousand people died at the train station in Macondo. I want to include the two fated members of our group, but I can't think of how, without getting in trouble with the government. If the massacre was cleaned up the next day, the government could do almost anything to a lowly writer for a small newspaper. Who knows, maybe the article will never be written.  
Works Cited Bell-Villada, Gene H. "Banana Strike and Military Massacre: One Hundred Years of  
Solitude and What Happened in 1928". Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One  
Hundred Years of Solitude: A Casebook. Ed. Gene H. Bell-Villada. New  
York: Oxford University Press. 2002 Bell-Villada, Gene H. Gabriel Garcia Marquez One Hundred Years of Solitude: A  
Casebook. New York: Oxford University Press. 2002. Garcia Marquez, Gabriel. One Hundred Years of Solitude. Trans. Gregory Rabassa. New  
York: Harper Collins. 1998 Janes, Regina. One Hundred Years of Solitude: Modes of Reading. Boston: Twayne  
Publishers. 1991. 


End file.
